


Prism

by Podysseus394



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Romance, Secret Identity, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tom Riddle is a Sweetheart, Tom catches feelings, eventually, tomione - Freeform, young Voldemort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Podysseus394/pseuds/Podysseus394
Summary: After watching all her friends die, and dying herself, Hermione Granger has to make a decision. Go on into the afterlife and spend her eternity with those she loves, or go back in time and prevent the war from ever happening. Win the friendship of one Tom Riddle.Under a new identity, 'Despina Peakins' struggles to separate the boy from the monster, whilst he cannot love.But love doesn't always come easily.





	1. I ● White Light

White light.

That was all Hermione Granger could see.

She didn't know if it was a minute, a day, a year that she spent wrapped up in white space. It neither felt like she was standing on the ground, nor floating in the air.

She recognised this place as a variation of the limbo which Harry had described before his untimely demise.

Harry had said that he spoke to Dumbledore, who had encouraged him to return to the fray, and carry on fighting.

Even the Boy Who Lived couldn't be as lucky as to survive death three times. He succumbed to Nagini's venom, just as Snape did. Of course, being Harry, he had died protecting someone else; the damned snake had gone for Neville when he stood up to Voldemort himself, but Harry took the brunt of the attack. There was no way he could survive it.

Suspended in limbo, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered all those who had lost their lives.

Harry.

Ginny, who had tried to attack Voldemort in a blind rage after Harry died, but was instantly struck down.

Professor McGonagall, who had held out in a duel against four Death Eaters singlehandedly, only to be taken down by a surprise attack from behind.

Lavender Brown, who had been ravaged by Greyback, causing irreparable damage to her fragile body.

Ron. Her Ron, to whom she had only just confessed her love, when a stray spell caused him to lose his grip on the Basilisk fang and sink into his arm, poisoning him in minutes.

_Too many._

She wished she could go back in time and change everything, save everyone from dying. She wanted to see her best friend smile again, see Ginny graduate from Hogwarts, apprentice under her Head of House, berate Lavender for her incessant gossiping. Tell Ron she loved him one more time.

What she wouldn't give.

Suddenly, she was falling. She could only tell she was falling because of the wind rushing through her hair, against her face, through her clothes.

It was only at this moment that she realised she was no longer wearing her bloodied, torn, wet clothes; they had been replaced by a white dress, flowing almost like a toga from the history books she had read as a child.

She jerked to a halt, hanging in midair, and then dropped a couple of metres into a crumpled heap on what she assumed was the ground.

She didn't get up. It felt like the weight of the world was holding her down, she had never felt more defeated.

"Rise up, child," a familiar voice called from a distance.

She turned her head ever so slightly, and saw her old Headmaster walking towards her leisurely.

Seeing him reinvigorated her, and though she struggled, she managed to stand.

"Well done Hermione. Most people who reach this place are never able to get up from the floor," he congratulated, taking her youthful hands in his own wrinkled ones.

"Professor, what is going on? Please explain, I just want to go home-" She begged, but stopped herself. She no longer had a home. Her parents had died as a result of their oblivation, their brains had wasted away. The Weasleys were homeless, as the Burrow had been set alight by Bellatrix Lestrange. There was no room for her in Grimmauld Place. Panicked, she began to hyperventilate.

"Calm, dear girl. This is a place of peace, you are safe here. I will explain everything. But come, walk with me."

Hermione trailed after him, dazed, eyes glazed.

"What is this place? Is this limbo? Did I die?" Hermione questioned.

"You are correct, this is indeed limbo. You did die, saving another's life. However, this is not the end for you, unless you choose it to be." He was serene as he was in life, still holding all the answers, she thought.

He chuckled.

"As much as I would like to think so, I do not know everything. But I make accurate guesses most of the time. For example, I guess that you want to know what I mean by this not being the end. Am I correct?" His piercing blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

"Of course, Professor."

"Very well. You have been granted an unprecedented opportunity. It has been recognised by the Powers That Be, that you have the ability to change the events of the last fifty years, and save thousands of lives. If you choose to do so, you will be sent back to 1943, and become a fifth year student at Hogwarts. You will encounter Tom Riddle, and your task is to deter him from the destructive path he will begin that year, when he murders Myrtle Warren."

"I have to befriend Voldemort? What if he tries to kill me? How can I possibly do that, I'll never be sorted into Slytherin! Are you insane?!" Hermione exploded, the idea seemed so preposterous.

"I may well be. But I am only the messenger, I do not have authority here. You must do whatever is necessary to divert Tom from his future as Lord Voldemort." The stoic Headmaster stopped and turned to face his former student.

"What is my other option? If I don't want to do this?"

"You move on to the afterlife, where you will be reunited with Harry, Miss Weasley, Mr Finnegan, and everyone else who lost their lives during the war. But you will live there with the knowledge that those you have left behind will soon die at the hand of Voldemort. He will usher in a reign of darkness and he will achieve immortality."

Hermione sighed.

"I have no choice, really. Do I?" She was resigned to her apparent fate.

"You always have a choice, my child. But I know you would not forgive yourself if you did not take this chance."

The young woman nodded.

"Then I must go back. Make friends with Voldemort, try to stop him. Simple," she rolled her eyes.

"I wish you all the best, Hermione. I know you will make us all proud, and I hope to see you again in a better future."

"Thank you, Professor. I will do everything I can to make this right." Hermione assured, clutching his hands like a lifeline.

"I don't doubt it. Now, off you go. You have a new life to begin," he said as he let go of her hands.

As soon as he did, the white light surrounded her again, and everything was still.


	2. II ● Green Robes

Hermione awoke, curled up in a ball on the edge of a forest. She was still wearing her white gown, her feet bare. Sitting up, she found that the world span around her, and she had to steady herself on a tree.

She staggered to her feet, and tried to find her bearings. When she turned away, her heart leapt to her throat.

Hogwarts.

Not in ruins. Not on fire. No corpses, or rogue killing curses being fired around. It was so  _peaceful._

She inhaled sharply, and began to stumble up to the great castle. She passed where Hagrid's hut was, but knew that if she was in 1943, as Dumbledore had said she would be, her dear friend would still be residing in the Gryffindor dormitory. If she was successful, he wouldn't leave the security of Hogwarts until he was a fully trained wizard.

It was dark by the time she reached the two large doors. Her legs were wobbling, and her hands were shaking. Then she realised she had no way of getting into the castle.

Close to screaming in frustration, she placed her palms on the doors, followed by her forehead, and internally begged Hogwarts to just let her in. And it did. It caught her by surprise, when the doors swung open and she fell through.

She didn't have the strength to get up a second time.

"Now who do we have here? A student out of bed?" A smooth voice called out to her, and she heard footsteps approaching. Whoever had discovered her had crouched down beside her crumpled form.

"What's the matter with you? Why are you on the floor? Are you even alive? Get up," he commanded, taking her hand, which was ice cold.

"Bloody Merlin, girl. Your hands are freezing! What, have you been for a nighttime wander? I'll have to report you to your Head of House."

Hermione finally had the strength to look up. Her amber eyes met the startling green gaze of a strikingly handsome boy, with coal black hair. His face looked like it had been chiselled from marble, his alabaster skin almost glowing in the moonlight.

"Please take me to Dumbledore. I need to speak with him, urgently," she croaked, as she tried and failed to stand.

"Who are you? What house are you in? I don't recognise you."

"That's unimportant. Now, will you help me or not?" Hermione grunted in annoyance, both at the weakness of her body and the probing questions of the boy in front of her.

"Fine. I would be a bad Prefect if I left you to suffer alone. But you can answer my questions on the way, alright?"

Hermione nodded weakly, as she fell down after reaching a kneeling position.

Without warning, the slender boy scooped her up in his arms, and began to carry her to the office of the Deputy Headmaster. He was startled by how light she was, it couldn't be healthy how visible her bones were.

"What date is it today?" She asked timidly, embarrassed at the fact that this stranger was holding her in such an intimate way, like a man would his bride.

"15th October. You must be suffering from amnesia, what kind of person forgets the date?" He sniped.

"Can I know the name of my saviour?" Hermione teased, trying to break the tense silence.

"I've answered one question already, sweetheart. My turn now. Your name first."

She froze, swallowing down her anger at his patronising tone. She hadn't thought of thinking up an alias for her time in the past.

"Despina Peakins," she blurted out, the first combination of names that popped into her head.

"House?"

"I haven't been sorted. I'm not a student. But I know Professor Dumbledore, he is my godfather," she lied through her teeth; dangerous, as she didn't know who she was dealing with here. Nevertheless, she put her mental shields up.

"Where are you from? You don't look like you come from around here."

"London." This, at least, wasn't a lie.

"London is a long way from here." He commented. Her cheekbones stood out from her pallid face, so very pale. She looked almost ill. Even he could appreciate, however, that she was a very beautiful girl. There was something about her that he couldn't put her finger on.

"I've answered your questions. Now will you tell me your name?" Hermione requested, as he set her down outside the office. She immediately missed the warmth provided by the Prefect's strong arms, the feeling of safety when she was nuzzled against his chest.

She dismissed these ridiculous thoughts. She didn't know who this boy was, there was no way she could feel safe after ten minutes of knowing each other.

"Riddle. Tom Riddle."

Her eyes widened, and she began to run.

He caught her easily, her wobbly matchstick legs were no match for his lengthy strides, and he slipped his arms around her tiny waist to stop her from running further.

"You know me." This wasn't a question.

Hermione knew she had to think fast. She was supposed to befriend him, not give away who she was in less than an hour.

"No, I don't. A man with that name was responsible for the death of my family." She wasn't lying, as though they didn't know each other personally, he hated her for being a Mudblood. A hatred reflected by the carving in her arm, a gift from his most devout servant.

Tom eyed her appraisingly, not quite believing her. However, it was one o'clock in the morning, and he wasn't quite feeling up to an interrogation.

He took her by the hand tentatively, and led her to the office again slowly.

"I know this place is new for you, but you don't need to be frightened. I'll keep an eye out for you, and if anyone gives you any trouble, you tell me. I'll sort them out." Tom surprised himself at this sudden burst of kindness he was showing the strange young woman. It wasn't often he took people under his wing. Especially not beautiful strangers who steal into the castle in the dead of night.

He surprised Hermione as well. She had expected the fully formed monster from her past life, not a suave, kind, handsome man.

So she didn't let go.

"Thank you Tom," she whispered.

●●●●●●●●

Albus Dumbledore had seen many unusual things in his life, but a girl with a past life in the future was not one of them. He surveyed the young woman over his half-moon glasses, his hands steepled under his chin. Hermione Granger was fidgeting in her seat, not wanting to meet his gaze.

She had explained everything she knew about how she had arrived there, and her task. Prevent Tom Riddle, the perfect student, from becoming a genocidal abomination.

Such a burden for such a young girl.

They had decided to keep the name she had given Tom, and would be known as Despina Peakins for the rest of her life.

Now for the matter of her Sorting.

The Sorting Hat was just as battered as Hermione remembered, and it sprang to life the moment it touched her head.

"Ah, very interesting," the old Hat mused. "You're the first time traveller I've had to sort. This will be very difficult."

"How so?" Hermione asked non-verbally.

"I can tell you were a Gryffindor before, you have the stubbornness for that house. But now, you have been hardened by war, you've become more cunning."

"But I still had to exhibit Gryffindor bravery, surely?" Hermione challenged. When she heard cunning, she knew instantly that the Hat was considering putting her in Slytherin.

Hearing her thought process, the Hat chuckled.

"You're absolutely right, maybe you belong in Ravenclaw..." The Hat suggested.

"You said that last time, I was a Hatstall" Hermione laughed. "As much as I would love to be in Ravenclaw, I have to be a Slytherin."

"Ah of course, your task. Well, I know what happens in your future, and I will not stop you from preventing it. Better be Slytherin!"

●●●●●●●●

Hermione was startled to find Tom leaning on the wall when she finally left Dumbledore's office.

"You took your time," he spoke casually, to break the ice. They began walking down to the dungeons.

"I was a Hatstall," she said nonchalantly. "How did you know I was a Slytherin? You didn't ask."

"I'm not colour-blind," he pointed to her green robes. "And a Hatstall? Interesting. What other house was the old thing deciding between?"

"It was three houses, actually. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

Tom raised his eyebrow. He'd never heard of a student being considered for three houses.

"Impressive. I think I'm going to like you, Despina Peakins."

"Likewise, Tom Riddle."

●●●●●●●●

Hermione had never been in the Slytherin common room, and she was amazed. The dim green glow from the Black Lake lit up the room, making it feel like a very intimate space. She noted with interest that she wasn't frightened being here with the man that one day would murder everyone she had ever loved.

"I'll show you to your dormitory, Miss Peakins, if you don't object," Tom offered courteously, gesturing down a set of poorly lit stone steps. Hermione didn't realise that the castle could go any deeper.

"I would appreciate it, thank you. And please, no need for formalities, call me Despina. You have surely earned that tonight," Hermione returned, trying to take down the barrier that was seemingly between them.

They stopped above a trapdoor, decorated with a plaque with her name engraved on it.

"Everyone in our house has their own room, none of this sharing nonsense like the Gryffindors," Tom joked, as he lifted the door to expose a silver rope ladder.

Hermione blanched at the sight. She was terrified of drops such as these, ever since the Devil's Snare incident in her first year.

"You're afraid of heights?" Tom queried, his slender eyebrow raised.

"A bit," she shyly admitted, a blush creeping up her neck.

"I can go first, so if you fall I can catch you." Tom berated himself for being such a gentleman, this wasn't who he was.

"I'd hate to be an inconvenience, I'll manage," Hermione replied shakily, her nerves evident.

"If it were an inconvenience, I wouldn't have offered," he said as he suddenly jumped into the darkness, causing Hermione to gasp.

"It's fine, it's only a couple of metres down. I'm here to catch you if you fall off the ladder, alright?" He called up to her, and she felt safe. Inexplicably safe.

Steeling herself, she began her descent down the flimsy ladder. As she feared, she lost her grip, and she was falling again.

And then she was in Tom's arms. Again.

Shuddering, she curled into his chest to hide how afraid she had been. He carried her over to her bed and placed her down gently, stroking her hair.

"It's alright, Despina, you're safe," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, I'm such a coward," Hermione sniffled. "I just want to go home."

"You're a Slytherin, courage doesn't matter. You showed a desire for self-preservation, which is more important. And Hogwarts can be your home, like it is mine," he comforted.

She nodded tearfully.

"Goodnight, Despina." He kissed the top of her head, and made to leave. However, the young woman had other ideas.

She grasped at his sleeve with her tiny hand, and it was enough to make him stop.

"Stay?" She pleaded.

Wordlessly, he laid down behind her on the bed, his arm around her waist and his face nestled in her silky hair.

 _How did I end up like this?_ Tom wondered. In less than three hours, he had met, saved, and was in bed with a complete and utter stranger. And he was being  _nice._

He shook his head in amusement, before joining his bed mate in deep slumber.


	3. III ● Red Faced

Hermione woke up to a strong arm holding her waist. A bare arm. She had to crane her neck to see who she was in bed with.

She jumped out of her skin when she saw the ebony hair, and the striking features of Tom Riddle.

She was in bed with Tom Riddle.

Hermione racked her brains to think how she possibly ended up in this situation. Then she remembered. She had asked him to stay.

How could she have been so stupid? He wouldn't give her the time of day if she was weak, and then how would she get him to like her?

"I already like you, Despina, and I don't think you are weak," Tom murmured, startling his pensive bedmate.

"How did you know I was thinking that?" Hermione asked, outraged. She knew he was a Legilimens, but she didn't want to raise suspicions.

"I'm a Legilimens," he said casually, like it was no big deal.

"And you decided you would just see what I was thinking? You thought that was acceptable?" Hermione fumed. She felt violated.

"I'm sorry if I have offended you, I don't want to start off on the wrong foot. I only wanted to see if you were feeling better this morning, but I feared you would be insulted if I asked."

Hermione was taken aback by his statement. He cared about her wellbeing? Why was he so interested in her?

"You're an interesting person. You fall through the door in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a flimsy dress after what I assume was a long trek up to the castle from  _London_. You immediately want to see Dumbledore, and you run away from me when you learned my name. Then, you ask me to stay with you. There's something not quite right with you, Despina, and I want to know what."

"Who are you, Sherlock bloody Holmes? Nosy bugger," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Of course, Tom heard her.

"What was that, Peakins? Nosy bugger, am I?" He teased, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, you are," she retorted as she sat up. At least she was still clothed, she thought.

Tom chuckled.

"Don't worry, Despina, I didn't debauch you as you slept."

"Stop doing that!" Hermione demanded, to which Tom rolled his eyes.

"It's a useful skill, you should learn how to do it," he suggested.

"Only if you'll teach me," Hermione flirted, leaning towards him.

Whilst he was very intelligent academically, he obviously wasn't particular well-versed in the art of flirting. So naturally, he didn't pick up her attempt.

"Alright then," Tom shrugged.

Hermione blinked, she didn't think it would be that easy.

"How about after class today? I know a place where we won't be disturbed."

"Trying to seduce me, Riddle?" Hermione thought she would try to be more clear this time, see how far she could go before he was embarrassed.

It wasn't too far, as Tom's pale face immediately went beet red.

"N-no, of course not, what a preposterous idea," he stuttered. He had no idea how to respond to this kind of behaviour.

Hermione had to stifle her laughter. She couldn't believe that this romantically awkward boy would become such a monster.

"Would you be so kind as to escort me to breakfast? I'm not sure where to go."

"Of course. Like I said yesterday, you can come to me with anything. You're a Slytherin, you're practically family now."

_Family?!_

It was one step forward and ten steps back.

●●●●●●●●

Tom explained the layout of the school on their way up to breakfast.

"And Potions is down in the dungeons," he concluded.

"It's a colossal castle, isn't it?" Hermione mused quietly.

"It is. Isn't it fantastic?" Tom agreed, the wonder evident in his voice.

"Absolutely."

They stopped just short of the Great Hall. Tom pulled her to the side, to allow the masses of students to pour in for their food.

"Would you like to sit with me at breakfast?" Tom offered.

"Of course! I'd hate to sit by myself on my first day."

"Alright then. Just to warn you though, some of my friends can be quite... how should I phrase it? Thick. They might ask a lot of questions, due to your attire," he gestured to the white dress from the night before that Hermione was wearing under her robes, which she had freshened up with a simple charm. "But only answer what you want to, don't feel under any pressure."

"Thank you Tom, I'm sure I can handle them," Hermione asserted. She was used to being made fun of by her peers, from her bookish tendencies to her less than conventional fashion sense, but it was like water off a duck's back to her now.

Despina Peakins entered the hall, her dress and robes flowing behind her. The heads of every boy turned so fast you could hear necks snapping. The young woman oozed confidence, and in that moment she could have conquered the world.

She sat down near the far end of the Hall, alone. Tom was still stood at the door, his eyes glued to her. He had followed the smooth curve of her body as she had strode down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, admiring her with his mouth agape.

She was stunning. A far cry from the vulnerable girl he had slept beside the night before. Despina was certainly a character.

'Despina' looked back to see where she had left Tom, and spotted him loitering in the entrance. She chuckled to herself upon seeing his gobsmacked reaction; she thought she would give him something to distract him in class.

Hermione waved him over to join her, and the moment he sat down, a horde of Slytherin boys sat down around them.

"Morning Tom, who's the bird?" A gormless-looking boy asked, resting his chin on his hand.

"The  _bird_ has a name, muttonhead, and would appreciate if you didn't objectify her, as it's far too early to be dealing with such misogyny," Hermione sassed.

"Bloody hell, she's a piece of work, isn't she? She's pretty fine though, I'd definitely go there," another boy muttered under his breath.

"You obviously didn't hear me the first time, when I said I would rather you treated me like an actual person. If any of you deem it acceptable to speak to me in such a manner again, I swear to God I will dismember you and feed your limbs to the Giant Squid. Are we clear, gentlemen?" Hermione's voice had raised steadily in volume during her tirade, to the point where it was a shout by the end, and had slammed her fists down on the table. It was only then that she realised she had the eyes of the whole room on her.

The boys' jaw all dropped; no girl had ever spoken to them in such a way.

"What's the matter, lads? Never had a woman consider herself your equal before?" Her eyebrow was raised, her voice still loud enough for everyone to hear.

This was met with whooping from the female population of the Hall, including a couple of the teachers. Such a display of feminine dominance was unheard of in Hogwarts, and it was refreshing.

Tom observed all of this with a look of pride on his face. Yes, Despina Peakins was certainly a girl he wanted to spend more time with.

●●●●●●●●

After the chatter had died and Tom's friends had dissipated, Hermione and Tom were left alone, sat side by side.

"You did say you could handle yourself," Tom noted, his food untouched as he stared at the enigma before him.

Hermione wolfed down her breakfast as if she hadn't just smashed the patriarchy in her new home.

"I did," she said, without even looking up from her cereal.

"That was very impressive."

"Thanks."

Silence.

Thankfully, Dumbledore interrupted the awkward pause by approaching them, holding a piece of parchment.

"Good morning Miss Peakins, Mr Riddle. I hope you're enjoying your first morning?" He asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh yes sir, dealing with institutional sexism is exactly what I want to be doing on my first day."

"Well, hopefully your female peers might take a leaf out of your book and stand up to such behaviour. Anyway, I took the liberty of drawing up a timetable for you. Based on what you told me about your previous schooling, I have placed you in all advanced classes, much like Mr Riddle here." Dumbledore passed her her timetable, which she was pleased to see was almost completely full.

"Thank you sir, have a nice day." The Deputy Headmaster nodded in reply, and returned to his place at the high table.

"Let's see what you've got?" Tom held out his hand, as he pulled out his own timetable. He scanned them with an astonished smile.

"Twelve O.W.L.s? Seriously?" Tom was amazed. He was only doing ten, and was being stretched.  "Well at least I have you to protect me in my classes, whilst the patriarchy is being destroyed around me," Tom joked.

"Patriarchatus delendus est," Hermione muttered as she munched on her toast.

"Latin? My my, Despina. You are full of surprises. The patriarchy must be destroyed?"

She nodded, finally finishing her breakfast.

"What do we have first?" Hermione enquired.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. That's with Professor Merrythought, she's nice enough but a bit soft."

Hermione's brow furrowed slightly at his derogatory tone towards a teacher, but said nothing.

Their walk to the classroom was filled with small talk about the other teachers, who would be teaching them what and how to behave around them.

The pair were the first to arrive, and Tom took his usual seat at the front of the classroom. Hermione stood a distance away, unsure of where to sit. That was until Tom patted the seat beside him. The new Slytherin gratefully took her place, and flashed him a bright smile which warmed his heart.

"Thank you, I wasn't sure if you normally sat with someone, or-" Hermione began.

"I do normally sit with Avery, but after the way he spoke to you this morning he can sit by himself," Tom growled.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"If you keep asking, I will mind," Tom winked at her. Now he was flirting with her? He berated himself for showing a potential weakness.

"Sorry."

The room fell silent as Professor Merrythought bounced into the classroom. She was a short, rounded woman with greying hair and a wide smile for all her students.

"Good morning to you all! And an especial good morning to our new student, Despina Peakins! Where are you, Despina?" She had to go on her toes to scan the classroom, and gestured for Hermione to stand when she raised her hand.

"Now, I hope you'll all make Despina feel welcome, as I'm sure you all remember your first days at Hogwarts."

"Another bloody snake, fantastic," a Gryffindor boy whispered.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Hermione enquired innocently.

"Nothing. What's it to you, anyway?" He sniped in response.

"I could have sworn I heard you call me a 'bloody snake'. Either drop the supremacist attitude or you and I are going to have problems," she snarled, her eyes narrowed.

"Mr Glades, detention at seven in my office, that kind of discriminatory behaviour will not be tolerated in my classroom," Professor Merrythought interrupted before the insolent Gryffindor could reply. "Now, in your pairs, I would like to begin with a practice duel, three minutes each. Mr Polmont and Mr Hall, you can go first."

Hermione and Tom sat back as they watched a string of mediocre displays of duelling. It was all rather dull.

"You are quite combative, aren't you," Tom murmured, so as not to be heard by Professor Merrythought.

"Well when people offend me or my qualities, then yes I am. You can hardly expect me to not defend myself," Hermione whispered back sharply.

"Tom and Despina, you are our last pair. If you would like to stand up?" Professor Merrythought called them to the duelling platform at the top of the classroom. "And don't be too tough on her Tom, it's her first day."

"I'll be fine, don't go easy on me please," Hermione contradicted.

They adopted the traditional starting position, wands drawn.

"Your time begins... now!"

And spells were being shot left, right, and centre. The marvel of it was, that there was not a sound from either of them; all of their spells were non-verbal.

The rest of the class, and the Professor were amazed at the level of magic that the two displayed. Tom himself was surprised by Despina's ability to hold her own against him, and he had studied Dark Magic for years.

This surprise was his downfall, as Hermione took advantage of the fact that he was distracted, and used Levicorpus to string him up by his ankle, followed by a swift Incarcerous. The former was a spell she had learnt from Professor Snape, when Professor Dumbledore had requested that he teach her to duel sufficiently.

There was a stunned silence.

"Erm, I think we would all agree that Despina is our winner today!" Professor Merrythought stuttered, shocked that someone had finally beaten Tom Riddle.

A non-verbal Liberacorpus combined with a cushioning charm allowed Tom to fall to the floor without injury. He stood up once he had been untied, his mouth hanging open.

"Close your mouth, Riddle. You'll catch flies," Hermione smirked, as she sat back down at her desk.

Tom was astounded. How had she managed to best him, and act so nonchalantly?

This girl was a wonder.

When the stout old Professor had finally composed herself, she stood back at the blackboard.

"After that... illuminating display of magic, we shall be learning how to cast a Patronus charm. Now, I will explain the mechanics of how to do it, as it is a particularly difficult charm. I don't expect any of you to manage it today, but this will be an ongoing project for you all."

Hermione froze. She had been able to cast a Patronus before, of that she was certain. But now? She had seen all her friends die at the hands of the boy beside her. No, it wasn't him. He only became Lord Voldemort when he made his first Horcrux, which was when he killed Moaning Myrtle. And she wouldn't allow that to happen.

So she sat at the side of the classroom, not even lifting her wand as her classmates tried and failed to even produce a wisp of silver smoke. She noticed that Tom wasn't trying either, sat opposite her on a desk casually.

"You're not doing it?" He mouthed.

She shook her head, and pointed at him, tipping her head to one side. He too shook his head.

Hermione gave up trying to communicate across the room, and went to sit beside him.

"Why aren't you trying it?" Hermione asked softly.

"Because I already know I can't. I've tried." He sounded almost dejected. "I could ask you the same."

"I used to be able to do it, but I don't know about now."

"Why not?" He turned to face her now, but she avoided his gaze.

"Stuff happened." Her vague answer intrigued him, and he pulled her face towards him with a slender finger.

"Tell me," he said so earnestly that Hermione thought she might cry.

"I can't. I need to move on," her watery voice was strained and it startled him, he hadn't meant to make her upset.

Tom cast a notice-me-not charm around them, as he wiped her eyes and pulled her to his firm chest, making sounds he hoped were soothing until her sobbing subsided.

"There, there, my little snake. It's alright."

"Your little snake?" The petite young witch smiled up at him, and he found himself smiling back.

"Yes. You are. Now, Merrythought is probably going to make us demonstrate, so go and ask her to try in private if you don't want to in front of the class," he ushered her towards the Professor.

"Thank you, Tom," she said sincerely, her eyes still sparkling.

He nodded in response.

Soon enough, the whole class had demonstrated their failed attempts at a Patronus, and had been dismissed. Only Tom and Hermione remained.

"I'll go first, Professor, but don't expect too much. I haven't had much luck with this spell," Tom said with a charming smile.

"Not to worry, Tom. Not many do, and I'd be surprised if even you could do it without some difficulty."

Tom closed his eyes, and tried to think of a happy memory. When he had first been visited by Dumbledore and found out about magic.

"Expecto Patronum!" Nothing happened.

But then he had an idea.

"I've thought of a potentially stronger memory, may I try again?" Tom asked, his charming smile seemingly becoming more intense.

"Of course, my dear," the old woman beamed at her star pupil.

This time, he thought about the mysterious witch watching him from her desk, her eyes bright as she gave him a double thumbs up.

He thought about how vulnerable she had been last night, how much he admired her for her behaviour at breakfast, the way she dealt with the moronic Gryffindor only an hour ago. She made him smile, there was no doubt about it.

"Expecto Patronum!" He cast again, and there was something! Only a cloud of mist, but a marked progress on his previous attempts, and much better than anyone else had produced thus far.

"Thank you, Tom! Good work, as ever, you are dismissed."

Tom strode out of the room, but did not leave. He wanted to watch Despina try to conjure her Patronus, so he peered in through a crack in the door.

He looked on as she scrunched up her face, like she was concentrating very hard, and a silver otter burst from her wand. She didn't even have to say the spell aloud.

Merrythought was gobsmacked for the second time that lesson.

"My goodness, Miss Peakins, however did you manage that? That is remarkable magical ability you have, you should be very proud of yourself."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied weakly.

"I'm sure you can see yourself out, I must prepare for my next class," Merrythought called as she breezed out of the room, narrowly avoiding hitting Tom with the door.

He watched in horror as Despina sank to the floor and sobbed, howling like an animal in pain. He didn't know what to do, he had never had to deal with such emotion before. He resolved to wait outside until she was ready to come out, and if they were late to Charms, so be it.

But he wouldn't go in to comfort her, he had done enough of that for one day.


	4. IV ● Ginger Hair

It was a long time before she emerged from the classroom, eyes red and puffy, her nose running. She gave a self-deprecating laugh at her pitiful state, as she wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks.

She turned to go down to Charms, and jumped out of her skin when she saw Tom, sat on the floor with a book.

"What are you still doing here?" She snapped, in no mood to talk to anyone, let alone someone who was so nosy.

"Waiting for you, what does it look like?" He stood up, stowing his book away in his bag.

"You didn't have to do that," she said as she walked past him.

He grabbed her arm, and pulled her back to him, so she was flush against his chest.

"Yes I did. You were upset. You  _are_ upset. Talk to me," he murmured softly, as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"I don't even know you. You couldn't possibly understand what I've been through, what I have seen." She began to tear up, and she swiped angrily at her eyes.

"Try me."

" _I can't!_ So just drop it, will you?" And with that, she stormed away without giving him the chance to catch her.

So he let her go.

●●●●●●●●

Hermione slipped into Charms without the teacher noticing, and took a seat at the back of the room. They were doing a charm that she had taught herself in her third year, so she quickly impressed the Charms Master, whose name she couldn't remember.

She ignored Tom as he sat down beside her, despite his attempts to attract her attention.

"Peakins." He began to kick her shin, but she didn't respond.

"Peakins!" He tried again, prodding her arm.

"PEAKINS!" He hissed, and she finally turned to him.

" _What?_ Can't you see I'm trying to work?" She spat.

"Oh please, we both know you mastered this charm a long time ago. So you have the time to tell me what's up with you."

"Sod off you interfering bastard. Don't think because you've seen me at my most vulnerable that I'm going to spill all of my secrets when you ask."

Tom was taken aback. Whatever had happened to this girl in her short life had obviously scarred her deeply, she wasn't trusting at all. But he would rectify that. He had ways of getting people to open up to him, and Despina would be no different.

He studied her gaunt face as she wrote her notes in a tiny, cramped hand, her nose crinkling when she was concentrating. He noticed how her hand found its way into her hair, only to pull away and look down at the bushy strands with a sigh.

By the time the lesson ended, the pile of parchment was three inches high, and they had only been there for an hour. She was as efficient as he was, but much more concerned about her studies than him.

He followed her from a distance as she made her way upstairs. They both had a free afternoon, but for someone who had only been in the school for a day, she sure seemed to know where she was going.

Her journey was interrupted by some of the boys whom she had had the misfortune of meeting at breakfast. Tom's friends. They stepped out of the Transfiguration classroom, blocking her path.

"Well well, if it isn't Little Miss Big Words! What are the chances of bumping into you here?" The boy she had confronted came towards her, a sly smile on his face.

"Pretty slim, but it's a shame nonetheless," Hermione retorted, not in the mood for an argument. She just wanted to be alone.

"Oh, gents, it doesn't seem like the know-it-all wants to talk to us!" There was a pang in her heart at the use of her old nickname, and she fought the tears that desperately wanted to rise to the surface.

Then another boy came up behind her and knocked her notes out of her arms. The yellow parchment rained down around her, and she could feel herself growing angry, as the magical energy building up in the corridor was stronger by the second.

"You are going to regret doing that," Hermione seethed, struggling to contain her rage.

"Aww, what are you going to do about it, poppet?" The ringleader asked, putting a finger under her chin so they were eye to eye.

"I'll break your bloody hand if you so much as look at me again."

He looked away slowly and deliberately, then turned back to her, a ridiculous grin on his face.

"I guess I just did, Princess," he countered smugly.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, prick," Hermione whispered, and in a flash she had his arm in a lock, and his fingers bent back precariously. He grunted in discomfort as she gently pulled back each finger in turn.

"You know, there are twenty-seven bones in the human hand. That's fifty-four in both hands. How painful do you reckon it would be to have each bone broken individually?" Hermione asked, as casually as one would the weather.

"I don't know," the boy cried out as she pulled his fingers back further.

"And I'm sure you don't really want to find out, correct?" He nodded anxiously, eager to extricate himself from this embarrassing situation. "Then stay out of my way, and I won't have to break you. Do you understand?" He nodded again.

Hermione released him roughly to the floor with a look of contempt, and summoned her notes back into her arms.

"Now boys, if I so much as hear a whisper that you have treated anyone else in the same way you have treated me, you may find yourself in the Hospital Wing with some inexplicable injuries. Good day."

And with that, she stalked off up to the seventh floor.

Tom resumed his pursuit of the witch, amazed by the way she had dealt with those morons. He may have to reconsider his 'friendship' with them if he wanted her to trust him.

Tom was puzzled as Despina stopped at a wall. She closed her eyes, took a deep breathe, and two brown doors faded into existence. She slipped inside, not before checking she hadn't been followed. Obviously not thoroughly enough, as she didn't see Tom, hidden in an alcove in the wall.

He hesitated; should he follow her? She obviously wanted privacy, that much was clear. But how had she managed to conjure up a whole room? Curiosity got the better of him, and he crept into the room.

Tom found himself in a cozy living room, with a roaring fire. But no one was there. He turned full circle, and he was well and truly alone. Despina was nowhere to be seen.

He walked around the kitchen, where he saw many photographs. There was one of a large family, with seven ginger children, possibly in Egypt, as there were pyramids behind them.

So he took a seat in a worn armchair, back facing the kitchen, which looked like it had seen one too many meals prepared. He stared into the fire, wondering how the doors had managed to take him to a different place. He knew he was no longer in Hogwarts as, when he looked out of the window, he saw vast meadows, instead of snowy mountains. And where on earth had Despina gone?

Then he heard a clink of something metal falling to the floor.

His head snapped to the direction of the noise, and he saw Despina.

She was sat on the floor by a grandfather clock, cradling something slender in her hands. He silently got up from the chair, and floated over to her. Looking over her shoulder, he saw that she was holding something that looked like a hand from a clock. Only this hand had the face of a freckled, ginger boy on it, grinning sheepishly out.

Then Tom noticed that her body was wracked with sobs, but she was silent as a mouse. The face on the clock hand frowned at her tears, almost moving as if to reach her.

"Oh Ron, what am I doing? Why was I chosen to come here, and not any of you? I'm not strong enough to go through with this, I miss you, and Harry, and Ginny. It's not fair, that I won't ever get to see you again. Why do I always have to sacrifice? I sacrificed my normal life, I lost my parents, then I lost you. IT'S NOT FAIR!" Her voice had risen to a cracked scream, her anguish being enough to even frighten Tom.

He realised in that moment that it probably wouldn't end well for him if she found him stood behind her, and backed away slowly. The problem was, he didn't know how to leave. How had Despina done it?

 _Can I go home now?_ He thought, and the two doors materialised before his eyes.

Sighing in relief, he quietly pushed the doors open, and he was back in Hogwarts again. He strode back to the Slytherin Common Room, his head reeling at what he had seen in the mysterious room.

What had happened to these people? Where had she come from, where so much destruction had obviously occurred? And what else had she sacrificed?

●●●●●●●●

Hermione knew that using the Room of Requirement to replicate the Burrow probably wasn't the best idea, but she had to ground herself, find some semblance of belonging. But when she found Ron's clock hand on the floor, she couldn't fight the pain that was gnawing at her very soul.

How anyone could split their soul was unimaginable to her, how could anyone live with such pain? It strengthened her resolve to save Tom from his self-corruption, and in turn the lives of everyone she loved. She would not fail, she couldn't.

It was with a heavy heart that she stood up, and slipped the clock hand with Ron's face into her pocket. She reluctantly asked the room to return to Hogwarts, and the doors appeared before her. With one last look back, she walked through the doors, and resolved never to go to the Burrow again. She had to be stronger than that, or she would let sentimentality get in the way of her task, and she would fail.

She dragged herself back down to the dungeons, ignoring the pull in her heart that drew her to Gryffindor Tower. It was now dark, and it made her wonder how long she had actually spent in there, and whether anyone had noticed she had gone.

When Hermione reached the stone wall which concealed the entrance to the common room, she spat out the password, which this month was Mudblood, and felt sick as the stones parted to reveal the stairs. Saying those kind of words disgusted her, as she was proud of her Muggle heritage, secret though it was.

The common room was full of people, but her head was pounding, and she cut through the crowds to escape the noise, and to her rooms.

When she reached her trapdoor, she cast a muted cushioning charm and jumped down, and fell onto her bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.


	5. V ● Blue Pyjamas

_Hermione was running through the debris of the school she loved so well, casting curses behind her at the Death Eater pursuing her. Bellatrix Lestrange was a particularly vindictive witch, who wanted to finish what she had started at Malfoy Manor._

_"Come out to play, little girl! It's no fun when you run!" She cackled manically, sending curses flying everywhere, drawing screams from the crowd._

_Hermione knew that she couldn't run forever, and Bellatrix was persistent, so she turned to face her assailant._

_"Oh, the little Mudblood is going to fight? How sweet!" Bellatrix cooed, with an evil gleam in her eyes._

_"My name is Hermione, you bitch," she seethed as she launched an attack on the insane witch. Bellatrix's eyes widened as she defended herself, she clearly hadn't realised how strong Hermione was. She fired off a counterattack, which Hermione deflected with ease._

_"Is that the best you've got? You're pathetic, Bellatrix! No one here will ever surrender to your Lord, no one wants to become a slave like you!" Hermione shouted, as she released a torrent of water at her adversary, washing her away into a horde of giants. She watched in satisfaction as one promptly_   _stood on the manic witch_ ,  _but still winced as she heard the_   _bones be crushed._

_Hermione whirled around, trying to find any other Death Eaters to duel. Fighting wasn't normally in her nature, but she had just lost the love of her life needlessly, and she was on the hunt for vengeance. Against whom, she didn't quite know, but she also didn't care._

_Her eyes locked on a small first year girl who had obviously not reached her common room in time, cowered in fear of the tall masked man approaching her. Hermione ran as he raised his wand, the fatal curse half formed in his mouth._

_She didn't think, she jumped in front of the green light hurtling towards the girl, and-_

She woke with a start, her skin dripping with sweat, her heartbeat erratic. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to staunch the tears, and to distract her from her shaking form. She changed out of her school robes and into a blue silk nightgown and robe.

Hermione stood on spindly legs, and wobbled to the ladder. Catching her breath once she reached the top, she shuffled to the common room, and flopped in an armchair by the fire. She attempted to summon a house elf to get her a cup of tea or something to steady her nerves.

She was successful, as a wide eyed small elf appeared before her, it's shoulders hunched and head lowered.

"Hello, what's your name?" Hermione asked kindly.

The elf's head shot up in surprise.

"No one has ever asked Hooky's name before, you are very nice Miss!" The elf, who she now knew to be called Hooky, beamed, which Hermione returned.

"Please, call me Despina, Hooky."

Hooky gasped, his slender fingers flying to cover his mouth. His eyes began to water, and soon he was blubbering uncontrollably.

"Oh no Hooky, please don't cry, I just want to be friends!" Hermione tried to comfort him, alarmed by this turn of events.

"Friends?! Miss wants to be friends with Hooky?!" His bawling increased in volume, if such a thing was possible, and he blew his nose in the pillowcase he wore.

"Hooky! Stop crying now!" Hermione commanded, but still gently as she didn't want to frighten the poor elf. He stopped immediately.

"Would you awfully mind getting me a cup of tea?"

Hooky's face lit up, and he disapparated immediately. He returned moments later with an entire tea tray, much more than she could possibly need.

"Thank you! You have been so helpful, I'll call you if I need anything else, okay?"

Hooky nodded, a big smile on his face, and disappeared again. Hermione turned to the tea tray, and helped herself.

"Quite the tea party you've got going on here," a voice spoke from right behind her, startling her, causing her to spill hot tea all over herself. She cursed violently, and turned to glare at the interruptor.

It was no surprise at all to see Tom leaning on the chair, wearing only a pair of loose pyjama bottoms. And no shirt. Hermione exhaled slowly in admiration, he was certainly a fine specimen. But she was still angry at him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Sneaking up on me like that?" Hermione growled, trying to mop up the tea which had ruined her nightgown.

"It's a free country, Peakins. I'm entitled to be here too," he said as he cast a wandless Evanesco to remove the stain and the wasted tea.

"Fine, but you didn't have to scare the living shit out of me!" She snapped, as she poured herself another cup.

"You swear like a sailor, you know," Tom said conversationally, squeezing in beside her and spreading out casually, so she had no room.

"Know many sailors, do you? And do you mind, some people actually have the concept of personal space!" She gestured angrily to their proximity.

"I might do. And this is where I normally sit."

"I don't see your name on this chair, and I was here first." Hermione argued, not in the mood for Tom's smarmy nature tonight.

"What are you doing up anyway? It's three in the morning," Tom asked.

"I don't know how that's any of your business, Riddle."

"Oh, back to last name terms, are we? It's not normal for people to be up at this time."

"Since you're being such an intrusive git, yes, we are back to last name terms. And I could ask you the same thing, you're up as well."

"I'm always awake at this time, I don't need much sleep. You, on the other hand, look like you sleep a lot. I think you've had a nightmare. Am I wrong?" Tom raised an arched eyebrow, and slung his arm around the back of the chair.

His question was met with silence.

"Despina?" He moved his arm so it was now around her shoulders, before she quickly shrugged him off.

"I value my personal space quite highly, Tom, so I would appreciate if you didn't touch me without warning."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Fine, it was a nightmare, can we just change the subject?" She spat, his accuracy stung.

"No, you need to tell me what's going on with you. First you're all nice, but vulnerable, then you rant at my friends-"

"For being sexist pigs," Hermione interrupted sharply.

"Yes, and then you become closed off and cold. What is up with you?"

"You're a stranger, you can't expect me to tell you everything about me."

"You can trust me, Despina," Tom soothed, turning her face towards his, so he was looking into her eyes. He hoped that he was coming across as earnest, as feigning kindness wasn't exactly his strong suit.

"No, I can't. I don't. And I don't think I ever will. Now, goodnight." She got up and headed back to her room.

"Oh, and by the way, who's Ron?" Tom called after her. She froze, and span around to face him.

"You followed me," she whispered, the hurt evident in her eyes.

Tom matched her gaze, not looking even slightly abashed.

"Well?" He pressed, not moving from his seat.

"You have no right to ask that of me. You shouldn't have been there," she said wearily, and began to walk back to her room.

"Despina, wait. You didn't answer my question," Tom leapt from the chair, and sprinted to catch her.

Hermione exploded.

"You shouldn't have been there! You invaded my privacy! And now you have the audacity to question me on a very personal moment which you so rudely intruded upon? How dare you! You are nothing but an entitled, snooping prick! And again,  _goodnight!_ "

She stomped up to her room, and Tom didn't try to follow her. It would do him no good to further incite the wrath of the little witch who was intriguing him more and more by the minute.

●●●●●●●●

Hermione woke up a few hours later from her restless sleep, still extremely pissed off at Tom Riddle. The absolute nerve, to stalk her like that, how very dare he?

Her frizzy hair stood on end as her magical energy crackled around her, storming down to breakfast. She sat, very much alone, with a thick book, and ate her toast in silence. That was, until a dark shadow obscured her view of the page.

She looked up to find the source of her rage smirking down at her, his hands behind his back. He sat down opposite her without invitation, and stole her last slice of toast.

"Piss off," she snapped, turning her attention back to her book.

"Now now, Miss Peakins, that's no way to behave around a Prefect," he teased as he bit into the pilfered toast.

"No, Tom, following someone and intruding on their personal life is no way to behave, so I'll tell you once. Piss. Off." Her voice dropped to a growl, as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Fine, I thought you might appreciate these, but I guess not." He got up and threw a large bunch of purple flowers on the table, before leaving the hall, his robes billowing behind him.

Hermione stared after him, mouth agape at his attitude. He had the audacity to be annoyed at her, after what he had done? Nonetheless, she pulled the flowers closer to her, and finished her food. She banished the flowers to her room, where she hoped they would die. She could think of something, or someone, else she would like to die at this particular moment.

Shaking her head, she gathered up her books and headed down to Potions, which was, as ever, in the dungeons. A wave of nostalgia washed over her when she saw her old Professor, Horace Slughorn, stood at the blackboard, his preferred red mortar board perched precariously on his head (not as balding as it was in the future).

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over her head when Slughorn enthusiastically gestured that she sit next to -who else?- Tom Riddle. She swore internally, and shuffled over to the table at the very front of the classroom. There were four people in the class, including herself, all those empty desks she could have sat at!

She slumped into her chair, her displeasure written all over her face. Tom was a vision of serenity, so calm and composed when he addressed her.

"I know you're angry at me-"

"Angry doesn't even begin to cover it, arsehole," Hermione spat back.

"I know you're most angry at me, but I would appreciate if we could be civil so we don't both fail this class."

Hermione scoffed, but nodded. She wouldn't make this experience more difficult than it already was.

"So today, we will be learning how to make the Draught of Peace..."

●●●●●●●●

When Slughorn had finished talking (the man  _did_  go on), Hermione jumped up and practically sprinted to the ingredients cupboard to get away from Tom. He was just so arrogant, not even paying attention to what the old professor was saying. He had leant back in his chair, cast a Notice-Me-Not charm around him, and started to read a dusty tome that looked suspiciously like  _Moste Potente Potions,_ which Hermione had read for the Polyjuice Potion recipe. She had also developed a spell which allowed her to enter the confines of the Notice-Me-Not charm, ironically without being noticed.

That is, until she made herself known.

"Do you have to try to be so hubristic, or does it come naturally to you?" Hermione remarked, casting her eyes over the page he was studying so intensely.

Tom slammed the book shut, startled, and glared at his deskmate.

"Do you have to try to be so irritating, or does it come naturally?" He mimicked her question, subtly stowing the book back into his satchel.

Hermione ignored him, and plucked the book out of the bag and opened it on the previous page.

"You're only reading about slow acting venoms now? I took this book out of my library in second year," Hermione scoffed, giving Tom a look that could almost be described as patronising.

"Well it mustn't have been too difficult for you to access. I've been trying to get this book for two years."

"Only took me two days," Hermione coughed under her breath.

Tom's glare intensified, as he snatched the book back.

"It must be genetic, no one can possibly grow up to be this pestilent. Or maybe you just had odd parents," Tom snapped.

Hermione sat up sharply, and inhaled deeply. Her rage was simmering at the insult to her deceased parents, and it was a losing battle to try to keep a lid on it.

Breaking the charm keeping their conversation out of the hearing of others, she drew her wand and pointed it at him, her hand shaking.

"I don't care if you slight me, but I will not stand for you making derogatory comments about my parents. They were brutally murdered before my eyes, so show some respect for the dead! Otherwise you'll be cursed in your sleep, you conceited dolt!"

"Miss Peakins, what is the meaning of this outburst? Sit down and continue making notes, and you will stay behind after the lesson!" Slughorn exclaimed, but with a slight sadness visible in his eyes.

Hermione completed the lesson in a daze, but still managed to produce the best potion in the class, even beating Tom's. As everyone was packing up, she whispered in Tom's ear.

"Or I might decide to poison you instead, so watch your back."


	6. VI ● Bronze Gown

Hermione remained sat in her chair as everyone filed out of the classroom to await her punishment. Tom didn't even look at her, being the first to leave.

"Now, Miss Peakins, will you please explain what that outburst was all about?" Slughorn asked as he prepared for his next lesson.

"I think it was pretty obvious what happened, Professor. Tom began to insult me, but went too far when he made derogatory comments about my parents."

"I'm sorry, my dear. Was it Grindelwald's doing?" Slughorn's tone was sympathetic, but she could tell he was just after her back story. She knew a Slug Club invitation was inevitable, as her Potions work was exemplary, and he couldn't resist the urge to show off.

It was just as easy for Hermione to assent, as she had to remind herself that she was no longer Hermione, but Despina, a normal girl who didn't use Time Turners. The comparison between the two despots was laughable; both destroyed by the actions of someone they had trusted.

"Well its all a bad business, very bad business indeed," Slughorn hummed to himself as he pottered around in the classroom. "Anyway my dear, between you and me, I don't think you deserve a detention for that spectacle, as long as you agree to come to a little gathering I'm holding tomorrow night. There'll be many influential people there that would love to meet you."

Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes.

"Of course I'll come, Professor. Thank you for your leniency, I'll try not to do it again."

"Mr. Riddle is a wild spirit, Miss Peakins. I wouldn't blame you if you did!" He chuckled, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

Hermione gathered her things and left the dungeons, running so she wouldn't be late to Arithmancy. She just made it before an old, greying man hobbled into the room and wrote very complex equations on the blackboard.

Tom was sat on the other side of the classroom and pointedly ignored her, focused on his work. Hermione didn't care, she was bloody fuming, and wouldn't care if he was suddenly snatched away by the Giant Squid and devoured.

Maybe not that angry.

She admired his features as the sun shone through the window, perfectly casting a shadow under his defined cheekbone. She watched as he ran his slender fingers through his tousled black hair, imagining what it would feel like.

Hermione was very confused. She had known this boy for a day or two, and she was already acting like a love-struck teenager. She didn't know whether she wanted to punch him or take him right there on the desk. Groaning, she willed herself to concentrate on the formulae that she subconsciously already knew.

The class dragged by, the professor droned on, his voice seemingly having the ability to slow down time itself. For the first time, she was glad to leave a class, and hurried out of the door.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

When dinner finally rolled around, Hermione found herself without company. It was to be expected, really. She had distanced herself from the only person she knew, and hadn't spoken to anyone else.

She ate her potatoes miserably, until a boy sat down opposite her. She recognised him as Avery, the one who had been so rude to her the day before. She frowned sharply at him, causing him to hold up his hands in surrender.

"I promise, I come in peace. I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour yesterday, it was uncalled for and very rude. I don't really know why I behaved like that, maybe to impress the others, but it was inexcusable and I won't treat you, or any other woman, in that way again," he rushed, eager to get his full, prepared apology out before she hexed him. He had seen her duel against Tom, and realised he didn't want to be on the wrong end of that wand.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, before inhaling slowly. Avery held his breath, hoping to Merlin that he wouldn't have to spend the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing.

"Apology accepted," she said curtly, before returning to her meal. Avery breathed a sigh of relief, but did not move.

"Forgive me for prying, but are you eating alone?"

"Yes, I am. Tom has royally pissed me off, and I don't know any other people."

"Well, you know me now. Mind if I stay? I'd like to get to know you a bit better," he asked hopefully.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, which he took as a sign he could stay.

"So, why haven't we seen you here before?"

"You waste no time, do you?" Hermione chuckled, causing a red flush to rise up Avery's neck. "I only arrived here two days ago. I came from London, seeking help from Professor Dumbledore after my parents were murdered by agents of Grindelwald."

"I'm so sorry, what an awful thing to happen. How do you know Professor Dumbledore though?"

"He's my godfather, and I was told to find him if anything should happen to my parents."

"That makes sense. But how on earth did you escape, if they managed to kill both of your parents? They must have put up a good fight."

He was under the assumption that her parents were magical, and she didn't think that it was in her best interests to correct him. She was supposed to be a Slytherin, after all.

"My parents locked me in my room and cast the Fidelius Charm over it, so there was no way they could find me. When the room finally let me out, the house was destroyed. It's a miracle the house didn't collapse before I got out."

Avery let out sympathetic sigh, and patted her arm. "I know as a Slytherin, I'm supposed to agree with all this Pureblood superiority malarkey, but really it's all just a bit ridiculous. Wizards are wizards, whether they have magical parents or not, right?"

"And witches, Avery," Hermione retorted lightheartedly. "My parents didn't have much involvement in the fight against him, they were associated with people who did, which is why they were targeted." Hermione was disappointed in how easily she could conjure up a lie, that she had become so battle-hardened in such a short life.

"That's terrible, it really is. I don't know how I would cope if I lost my parents."

"I'm managing well enough, they taught me to be self-sufficient. Ahead of their time, I suppose."

Avery hummed in agreement, skewering some meat with his fork and dropping it on his empty plate.

"I know it may seem a bit insensitive to ask this now, after the conversation we've just had, but I heard you were invited to the Slug Club Party , and I was wondering if you'd want to go with me? So you don't have all the creeps swarming around you, of course." Avery's face turned red as he looked away shyly.

"Thank you Avery, that's very sweet of you to offer. I can deal with the creeps myself though, just so you're aware," she joked.

"Oh I'm well aware of how well you can deal with men," he laughed. "So is that a yes?"

Hermione nodded as she helped herself to a second portion of potatoes.

Neither of them noticed Tom glaring at the happy pair from further down the table, jealousy burning in his green eyes. He knew he had deeply hurt her, but there was no way he could find out more about her with Avery fawning all over her. He'd have to have a word with his wayward friend.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

The next day whizzed by, and Hermione was dreading the Slug Club meeting. She had been to see Dumbledore and explained the story she had been telling people about her parents' demise, and he worked some magic to create records and a whole family tree, which any curious wizard could access. She was well and truly Despina Peakins with the dead parents, Henry and Frances Peakins. Her paternal grandparents had died many years earlier in a dragon pox epidemic, and her maternal grandparents in a duel gone wrong. Her new life was just as tragic as her old one, which she was finding harder to remember.

When she asked the Transfiguration Professor why this was, when she had only been in this time for a few days, he explained that her memories of her past life would rapidly fade until only her purpose in this timeline would remain. She went back to her room and cried, as within days she wouldn't remember Harry or Ginny, or any of her other friends. Or Ron. That hit her hardest of all, that she had already lost him once but would lose him again.

She resolved to extract every remaining memory of her friends, her family and her love, and put them all into vials which she stored in a small box with an Undetectable Extension charm and a Notice-Me-Not charm. Hermione refused to forget what she had lost, even if it meant confusing her new self.

The task was by no means menial; by the time she had finished, she had conjured around a thousand vials, each one swimming with wispy silver threads, containing a memory of her former life. Some were from her daring exploits with Ron and Harry, such as when they solved the puzzles to reach the Philosopher's Stone. Others were just from happier times, when she was able to put the war out of her mind, like when she and Ron had interrogated Harry about his kiss with Cho Chang. These were the memories that she was more keen to remember, as the war had already taken her life away from her, she didn't want them to taint the ones she had been able to retain. She categorised each memory by date; her eidetic recollection was one of the key contributor to her academic success, which made the loss of her memories all the more peculiar. 

She had designed the box in such a way that it was like a library. The most precious were located in her own 'Restricted Section', so if anyone were to discover it, they would have a bloody hard time reaching anything significant, that could be used against her. She had to swallow down her grief as she extricated the memory of the last time she had spoken to her parents, when they had just revealed that they were expecting another child. That wasn't something she ever wanted to be confronted about, by friend or foe. Bellatrix Lestrange had not only killed her beloved parents, but her baby brother, and Hermione doubted that she would ever get over that loss.

Hermione's thoughts drifted to Tom Riddle once again. He too had suffered loss, but he was too young to remember it. She was aware of how his mother had bled out on the steps of the orphanage moments after giving him his name, and that he would eventually kill his father, who he despised for his muggle blood. She wondered if he struggled with the fact that he was an orphan, that his father had made no effort to seek him out, that nobody had cared about him in his life. She almost felt sorry for him, before remembering that he had personally killed her best friend, and caused the deaths of so many others.

She didn't know how she was supposed to stop him from becoming the snake-like despot from her time, when she hated him. Even before his soul had been corrupted, he was still an insensitive, unpredictable prick who preyed on the weaknesses of others. But she had to. Or Ron and Harry and Ginny and all the others would die again, but this time, it would be all her fault.

So she had to out-charm him.

 

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

Hermione, punctual as she was, was ready ten minutes before she was supposed to meet Avery in the Slytherin Common Room. After coming to the realisation that she had no formal attire, she dug out the white robes she had arrived in from her trunk, and transfigured it into something more acceptable. The summers at the Burrow had not been wasted, and Ginny Weasley was a marvel when it came to transfiguring clothes. The end result was a floor length, flowing dress covered in bronze sequins that glinted in the candlelight. Her hair had been swept up on top of her head, but even with her skills in magic she couldn't prevent a few curls falling loose. Her heeled shoes made climbing the ladder challenging, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. She was Despina Peakins, after all.

As she made her way to the Common Room, she heard an agitated, whispered argument coming from one of the shadowy alcoves.

"Don't you think you've treated her badly enough already, Tom? Don't ruin her evening too," she heard Avery snap.

"There's something up with that girl, and you know it. Try not to get too attached, or catch feelings, it would be a shame to lose you from the cause. I would almost say you're too valuable to lose, but no-one is irreplaceable" Tom hissed in response, and Hermione frowned. The kindness was all an act, and she was hardly surprised.

"I don't think you give a damn about where she comes from or who she is. She's only been here five minutes, and you've been nicer to her than you have to your friends of five years? Then you go and act like a complete knob? I'm not sure it's me you need to warn about 'catching feelings', maybe have that conversation with yourself before you dare to lecture me."

Hermione heard the swish of a wand being drawn, and imagined that Tom was currently jabbing it in Avery's throat. The latter scoffed, and Hermione only had a moment to move out of the way as he stormed out of the alcove. Tom sauntered out after him, but his eyes were brimming with anger, betraying his cocky demeanour. Neither of them saw her, but Tom had already vanished by the time she reached the Common Room, leaving Avery and at least twenty others to gape at her beauty.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

"Mesmerising."

Avery approached her, grinning broadly, with his hand extended.

"You don't scrub up so badly yourself," she replied as she took the proffered hand.

He led her to the Great Hall, which had become more like a ballroom than a dining room. The tables had been moved to the sides of the rooms, where a generous buffet had been laid out. Some of Slughorn's less intelligent and interesting students had been roped in as waiters, offering canapés to everyone in sight. The host was stood up on the dais, surrounded by a group of official-looking men in expensive dress robes, occasionally pointing at certain guests in a bid to garner favour by introducing them to promising witches and wizards.

Only, Hermione noticed that there were very few female students in attendance. Including herself, she counted only three young witches, and the other two looked like they would much rather be somewhere else. One of them, a blond seventh year in a modest red dress was being leered at by a much older wizard, who kept offering her a goblet which Hermione suspected contained some kind of altered Calming Drought to make her more pliable. Hermione momentarily excused herself from her date and made her way over to the pair.

"Excuse me, may I just borrow my friend for a minute?" Hermione asked, smiling sweetly at the disgusting old letch.

"I think you'll find we're in the middle of something here Miss, why don't you go find someone else to bother?" The old man slurred, swaying slightly, the drink in his hand sloshing on the floor.

"No, I'd like to talk to her now, thank you," Hermione retorted sternly, pulling the young woman away before he could utter another word.

When they were a good distance away, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for that, he's been monopolising me for the past half hour, trying to get me drunk I guess," she huffed. "I'm Marissa."

"Despina, and not a problem. I'm very used to entitled men," she chuckled.

"I hate coming to these things, just because I'm Head Girl doesn't mean I want to talk to every single person here."

"I can understand why, some don't seem like the most respectable members of our society," Hermione commented.

"Believe it or not, that's Hippocrates Smethwick, the head Healer in St Mungo's Dai Llewelyn Ward," Marissa snorted. "A medicinal genius but an absolute prat. Slughorn got me talking to him when I mentioned that I want to be a Healer, I didn't expect him to try to drug me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, the prevalent belief that it was a man's prerogative to have any woman she liked enraged her to no end. She slid her wand out from the side of her dress and cast a Biting Jinx on Smethwick's goblet, making him scream in pain as the new teeth clamped down on his hand. Stowing her wand away with a look of complete innocence, she smiled at her new acquaintance.

"I hope your evening becomes more enjoyable, is there anyone else you know here?" Hermione asked.

Gesturing to a pair of boys over by the buffet table, she thanked Hermione and trotted over. Hermione returned to her date, who was leaning against the doorframe.

"Nicely done, I've never seen a Biting Jinx créate teeth that vicious," he grinned as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

"I don't know what you mean, you must be mistaken, I would never jinx such an upstanding pillar of the magical community," Hermione retorted, a wicked smirk gracing her face.

The pair danced for a while to the dulcet tones of Celestina Warbeck, a former pupil of Slughorn's who had been convinced to make an appearance. In this time, unnoticed by Hermione, Tom had snuck into the Hall, his face stormy as he watched his best friend cavorting with his newest interest. He had warned Avery to stay away from her, and he had gone against his wishes. If he were capable of feeling, he almost would have believed that he might be jealous. Scoffing at the very thought, he swanned over to the couple.

"Good evening Despina, Dominic. Having fun?" He asked, his warm tone disguising his inner fury.

"Yes thank you Tom," Hermione sniffed, she was still seething over the way he had treated her. "Did you want something?"

"Just a chance to apologise. Would you excuse us for a moment?" Tom turned to Avery, who knew better than to refuse. To anger Tom Riddle once was brave, to do so twice was foolish.

Hermione was not best pleased about having been left alone with the one person she was trying to avoid, and was adamantly avoiding making eye contact.

"Despina, I treated you awfully in Slughorn's class earlier, I was wrong and I am sorry," he forced out. Admitting that he was wrong was not something Tom did often, if ever.

Hermione knew that if she didn't accept his apology it would push him further away, and she was supposed to be getting close to him. Sighing inwardly with frustration, she looked at him head on.

"I'll accept your apology Tom, but if you ever speak to me like that, or make any derogatory comment about my parents, I'll hex you so you'll never have children," she countered sternly, her fierce gaze proving the sincerity of her threat.

"Children were never part of the plan, but I like to keep my options open," he winked, seemingly unfazed by her comment. "You look marvellous by the way, where did you find that dress?"

"I Transfigured it myself, actually," Hermione replied, a slight look of smugness on her face.

He nodded in approval, and held out his hand in an invitation to dance. She took it, her small hand engulfed by his long fingers. She rested her head on his chest as they moved back and forth.

"You really are a mystery, you know," Tom whispered into her bushy curls.

"I know," she chuckled. "If you think it's worth the effort to solve, stick around."

"I can be very persistent, so I certainly will 'stick around'," he smirked.

"I wouldn't mind that," Hermione teased, slinging her arms around his neck.

Smiling softly back at her, he tucked a loose curl behind her ear, before placing his hands on her waist.

"Glad to hear it," he joked. "So are we no longer nemeses?"

"We're no longer nemeses. You've been demoted to bog-standard enemy," she laughed, her eyes glistening with mirth.

"I suppose that will do for now. I should probably let you get back to your date before he starts thinking that I'm trying to steal you away," he winked, as he released her from his hold and sauntered back to the dungeons.

Avery returned to her side and picked up where he had left off, dancing until Slughorn called for everyone to retire to bed. Hermione didn't sleep much that night, instead she stayed up thinking about the enigma that was Tom Riddle.


	7. VII ● Black Soul

Autumn passed in the blink of an eye, and before Hermione knew it, snow had blanketed the grounds and the trees were bare. The older students had been stressed by the upcoming Christmas exams, but Hermione was unfazed, her eidetic memory meaning her revision was concise and effective, so she had more time to integrate with Tom and his circle of friends.

She had become closer to the dark wizard and had grown quite fond of him until the attacks started. Her memories of her old life had faded until they were nothing but a hazy blur in the back of her mind, but the pressing importance of her task had not been forgotten. The first attack on a Muggleborn student had happened just two weeks before, and the whole school was on edge, aside from the ever-cool Tom.

Hermione knew that he was responsible, but was struggling with how to deal with the situation. If she reported him to Dumbledore or Headmaster Dippet, Tom would not only be expelled, which would make him even more dangerous, but he would lose trust in her completely, as she knew no one else was capable of working out his scheme and he would immediately suspect her.

She resolved to talk to him about it when she could get him alone, by taking him up on his offer to teach her Legilimency. She was already a proficient Occlumens, perhaps rivalling Severus Snape himself, as he had been tasked with teaching her in her sixth year. Sidling up to Tom in their Defence Against the Dark Arts class, she turned on the charm.

"Good morning Tom, how are you this fine day?" Hermione smiled innocuously, as she moved closer to her target.

"Fine thanks," Tom replied brusquely. "Can I help you, Despina?" He eyed her slender hand which was now rested on his arm.

"I was wondering if you would do me a favour, for your favourite Slytherin," she coaxed, sliding her hand further up his arm until it stopped on his shoulder.

"My favourite Slytherin is myself," he retorted bluntly. "What can I do for my  _second_  favourite Slytherin?"

"Does your offer of teaching me Legilimency still stand?"

Tom paused for a moment. He would do well to spend more time with Despina, to figure out whatever it was she was hiding. However, for her to practice she would have to use the spell on him, which could potentially leave him vulnerable. Despina was a formidable witch, and knowing her she wouldn't fail to breach his defences.

His curiosity prevailed over his common sense, and he found himself agreeing to the petite witch's wheedling. He felt a small pang of happiness as he saw her beam as a result of his consent, which he quickly suppressed. He wasn't supposed to care about her, just find out who she really was.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

The pair decided to meet in Tom's room, a prospect which in itself was exciting for Hermione, as she had never visited him there before. She brought along some Honeydukes chocolate which she had purchased from Hogsmeade to thank him, or at least to try to make him less insufferable. She knocked on his trapdoor, set apart from the others by the word  _Prefect_  which was embossed in gold cursive lettering. As the door swung open, she caught sight of Tom standing at the base of the ladder, arms outstretched to catch her if she fell.

Hermione had become more comfortable with the ladders by this point, but the reassurance was still welcome. She handed over the chocolate, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, which he took with a nod of thanks. He invited her to sit on his bed, and he soon followed, sat opposite her on the expansive mattress.

"So how much have you prepared for these lessons?" He asked, delicately eating a square of the chocolate.

"I've read up on all the theory, both the necessary intent and the spellwork, but I have not been able to attempt the spell yet."

"Understandable, I didn't expect you to have. It's something that should be done in a controlled environment.

The young witch nodded in agreement, as she fiddled nervously with her wand.

"Are you alright, Despina? You look a bit peaky," he covered her hand with his, concern etched onto his chiselled features.

"I'm fine, just a bit apprehensive is all. I don't really know what to expect from the practical side," she mumbled.

"Well, we're going to start off slow today, I'll lower my shields completely so you can see what it is like to use on an average person, then each time I will put more defences in place to challenge you. Is that amenable?"

She nodded her assent and raised her wand to his temple.

"Legilimens!" She cast and found herself tumbling into his memories.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

_Hermione landed in a dark and dingy room, where the only light source was a small grimy window. She noticed a young, sallow-faced boy sat on the bed with the man she knew to be a marginally younger Albus Dumbledore._

_She also noticed that his wardrobe was on fire._

_With wide eyes, she watched as the boy reached into the blazing wardrobe to retrieve a rattling metal box, which he unlocked and placed on the bed between him and the Deputy Headmaster. Inside, she saw an assortment of items, none of them looking like things a young Tom Riddle would own. Her suspicions were confirmed when Dumbledore reprimanded the boy._

_"Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Tom," he chided, his unusual Muggle suit taking the edge off his stern words._

_Hermione observed as their conversation continued, paying particular attention to the young Tom. His sallow skin, combined with the dark circles under his eyes made him look very sickly, and all she wanted to do at that moment was hug him. She knew that Tom was an orphan, but to see his unhappiness as a child hurt her heart._

_The discussion turned to his being a Parselmouth, before Dumbledore took his leave. Immediately after, an old, supercilious woman walked into the room, holding a thick leather belt. Hermione gasped, realising what was about to happen. She jumped in between them to intercept the blow, but as she was merely an onlooker the belt passed right through her and struck the frail boy._

_"The sooner I'm rid of you the better, you little freak!" She spat as she continued to lash Tom-_

Hermione was thrown out of the memory, a simmering Tom sat before her. His eyes were closed in an attempt to keep a lid on his temper and to prevent himself from seeing the pity in her amber eyes. He didn't know why he let her stay in that memory for so long, let her see his ultimate weakness.

The small witch shuffled over to the stoic wizard until they were face to face, and pressed her hand to his cheek.

"I'm sorry that happened to you Tom, you didn't deserve that-" she started before she was cut off.

"You don't know what I deserve," he snarled, finally opening his eyes to look at her. He was surprised to find a look, not of pity, but of disappointment.

"I know that no child deserves to be abused. And Dumbledore should have known better, did he not see the state of you? You were underfed and not cared for properly, he should have done something," she raged, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh don't start crying over me, silly girl. I'm not worth your tears, I've done a lot worse than what she did to me," he admitted calmly.

"I am aware of that," her gaze meeting his, a knowing look in her eyes, an eyebrow raised almost disapprovingly.

She couldn't know, could she?

Tom concealed his inner turmoil, debating whether Despina knew that it was he who had caused the little Gryffindor first-year to be petrified, acting through the Basilisk. Did she know about the voice?

He resolved to find out by attempting to slip into her mind whilst she was distracted, only to be met by a fierce barrier being slammed up in his face.

Hermione glared at him, arms folded across her chest.

"I know what you're doing, Tom," she accused. "Don't make the children live in fear like you did, stop using that Basilisk as a weapon."

Tom was too dumbfounded to stop her as she showed herself out, climbing the rickety ladder with ease, and tore through the crowd of Slytherins hurrying along the corridor until she reached the sanctuary of her own room, flopping onto her bed and staying there for the rest of the evening.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

Tom was livid. How could she know? He had been so careful on his trips to the Chamber of Secrets, Confounding and Obliviating anyone he crossed paths with. Now the little chit thought it fit to meddle in his business?

He kicked the wall, cracking a tile (and possibly a toe), and sat down on his bed, head in hands. A small shred of relief wormed it's way into his head, as he recalled that Despina hadn't known about the voice in his head, the voice that informed him about the Basilisk, the Chamber, his  _birthright_.

Someone  _wanted_  him to do this. Tom had been reluctant at first; not having emotions didn't mean he wanted to kill people. But he would experience patches of memory loss, where he would end up on the other side of the castle, nearly always in that girls' lavatory. He often visited the Chamber, the desperation to find out why he felt so drawn to the place gripped him. After discovering the Basilisk, it was clear what the influencing voice wanted him to do. He wasn't stupid, he had done extensive reading on supposedly mythological creatures in the orphanage, but here Tom had one only he could control.

Every so often, a wave of guilt would wash over him, Tom's real feelings on the subject rising to the fore. He wasn't a murderer. But there was someone in Hogwarts who wanted him to become one. He just had to find out who, and why.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

The next morning, Hermione awoke with a cracking headache; she wasn't used to having her mind invaded so aggressively, and the effort of enforcing her shields so rapidly had taken its toll. She bolted down a pain relieving potion with her bland bowl of porridge, and cradled her head in her hands, her eyes resting closed.

Tom sat down wordlessly in front of her, frowning intently.

"You look dreadful," he remarked bluntly, his toast crunching obnoxiously loudly in his mouth.

"I only have you to thank for that," Hermione snapped, glaring at him with tired eyes.

Tom paused, considering whether he should attempt an apology. He decided against it.

"Well I'm sorry your defences are so inadequate, you need to work on your reflexes," he commented condescendingly.

Hermione merely rolled her eyes and left him sitting at the table alone. She wandered up to the Astronomy Tower, hoping that the fresh air would help alleviate her headache. She hasn't been in the mood for an argument, preferring to save her anger for a time when she was able to unleash it without restriction. This took the form of casting blasting hexes on the burnished stone in the tower, though not strong enough that it caused much damage.

After a while, Hermione seemed to calm down, letting out a sigh and turning to the corner where Tom was still standing.

"You really need to work on being stealthy, I think the Giant Squid could hear you breathing from the bloody lake," she fumed, her eyes narrowing at the tall boy.

Inwardly affronted by her criticism, he took a step forward.

"Well at least I can internalise my anger, instead of resorting to destroying the infrastructure every time someone pisses me off," he countered, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall.

"Shame it wasn't your face," she spat. Hermione sat on the edge of the tower, her bushy hair not getting in the way for once.

"Now now, that's no way to talk to your Legilimency tutor, is it?" Tom taunted as he moved to join her.

"You can piss off if you're just here to annoy me."

Tom remained silent, choosing not to push the witch too far. She could easily push him off the tower, and he had no doubt that she would.

"How did you know about the Basilisk?" Tom asked after a long pause.

She met his gaze, a hard look in her eyes. This was her opportunity to try to change his mind; if she could warn him about the consequences of his actions he may be dissuaded.

"I'm a Seer," she started slowly. "I've seen what happens if you continue down this path, and it doesn't end well for you."

Tom looked at her blankly, before the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"A Seer? What nonsense," he scoffed as he leant back against the wall. "Seers are all frauds who pretend to have visions to compensate for their magical shortcomings."

"Gellert Grindelwald is a Seer, are you saying he has magical shortcomings? He seemed to manage alright when he murdered my parents," Hermione challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Tom spluttered for a minute, not sure what to say. He obviously knew that Grindelwald was one of the most formidable wizards of his time, if not ever. But he also knew that the death of Despina's parents was an extremely touchy subject, and was unsure how to proceed.

"Okay, so you're a Seer," he conceded. "What do you know about my future?"

Hermione took a deep breath, as she was incredibly nervous about this conversation.

"Your experiments with the Basilisk will go too far, you'll end up murdering someone. This murder splits your soul for the first time, and makes your first Horcrux."

She paused as she saw a flash of excitement in his eyes, and knew she had to tread carefully.

"You will end up creating seven Horcruxes in total, which has a devastating effect on you personally, to the point where you no longer look human. You rise to power, commanding an army of dark forces, including the Death Eaters, who are your devout followers. Both you and they elicit fear, to the point where your moniker, Lord Voldemort, is no longer spoken; you are instead known as 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. You'll be mentioned in a prophecy also involving a young baby, who is ultimately your downfall. Your soul will be ripped from your body when you try to kill him, and you are presumed dead for fourteen years before a traitor resurrected you, but the Ministry refuses to believe you have returned. You control both the government and Hogwarts, arresting and imprisoning Muggle-Borns and murdering Muggles before the boy from the prophecy destroys your Horcruxes and kills you. Your quest for immortality fails, your fear of death makes you so paranoid that you trust no-one, and you die without a friend in the world, at just seventy-one."

Tom sat throughout Hermione's speech without interrupting, a pensive look on his face.

"What went wrong?"

Hermione was puzzled. Her explanation of what a miserable, lonely life he would have, and his only question was about his downfall? She realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that Tom had not been deterred by the knowledge of his failure, only wanting to know where he went wrong so he could prevent those mistakes from ever occurring.

"I won't help you carry out those atrocious acts Tom," she stated frankly. "You murdered thousands of innocent people, magical and muggle alike, all because of some ridiculous concept of blood purity, when you yourself are a half-blood. You have a black soul in your future, and I will have no part in making it darker. If you want to change your path, that I will help you with."

Tom stared her down, his frustration apparent. He wanted to know if she was aware of the influence in his mind had caused him to do such terrible things, but apparently she wasn't. He decided to keep that to himself for the time being, and would only share that knowledge if it was prudent to do so.

"Fine, I suppose I don't need your help, I can figure it out by myself." Tom quickly got to his feet and stalked out of sight.

Hermione sighed, and put her head in her hands. She needed to speak to Dumbledore.


	8. VIII ● Rosy Cheeks

When Hermione reached the Transfiguration classroom, she didn't have to wait long before the class of first years filed out, excited chatter ringing through the hallway as they dispersed to go to their next lesson. She slipped into the room now only occupied by Albus Dumbledore, who was leaning lazily on his desk, as if he had expected her arrival.

"Ah, Despina, good afternoon," he greeted pleasantly. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes sir, it's really quite urgent," Hermione tried to convey the importance of what she had to discuss with him subtly, lest they were overheard and someone figured out who they were talking about.

"Let's take this discussion to my office, shall we? I take it this isn't a conversation for unsavoury ears," Dumbledore raised a knowing eyebrow, his voice low.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

"So now he's going to try to change the course of history, to prevent his death in 1998." Hermione finished explaining the disaster of her conversation with Tom, running her fingers through her hair. Dumbledore looked unsettlingly calm.

"That's hardly surprising really, is it? You Slytherins are centred on self-preservation, what are a few lives when it comes to ensuring one's longevity?" Dumbledore remarked with a cavalier smile.

"You seem to forget, Headmaster, that I was formerly a Gryffindor, I am only in Slytherin to complete my task. And it is an attitude like that that pushes Slytherins to people like Lord Voldemort," Hermione challenged, crossing her arms defensively.

"But that in itself was a Slytherin move, was it not? And besides, people who are sorted into Slytherin have darkness in them, it is a presence in their minds, a pull they cannot ignore," he paused. "Maybe this isn't as much of a catastrophe as you think, Miss Peakins. You can use his thirst for power to your advantage."

"But to what end, Professor? There's only a couple of months before he actually ends up killing someone!" Hermione exclaimed, reminding the professor of her knowledge of the future.

"Yes, but you can go along with his plan, try to figure out how he operates, who he is close to, what skills he relies on the most." Dumbledore seemed unfazed by Hermione's protest, a glint in his eye.

"You can't honestly be suggesting that I partake in hurting innocent children, Professor?" Hermione stood up firmly, placing her hands on his desk.

"It shouldn't bother you too much, Miss Peakins, you are a Slytherin after all," Dumbledore commented coolly. "Now, good day, I believe you know where the door is?" he said as he passed a stunned Hermione to leave his office.

Hermione staggered back to the chair she had been occupying and fell into it heavily. This was not the Dumbledore she knew. Either this was an imposter, or something else was going seriously wrong.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

Hermione couldn't believe it, but she was actually going along with Dumbledore's plan. Their peculiar conversation had happened not two weeks ago, but Hermione was still reeling from his callousness and prejudice towards her new house. She had arranged to meet up with Tom in the Room of Requirement to talk to him again, feeling that she had to try one more time before giving up completely.

She wiped her damp palms on the scratchy fabric of her skirt, leaning on the wall where a door would soon appear, and anxiously looked around to see where he was. She worried if he had received her hastily written note asking for him to meet her, or if he had just chosen to ignore it. After ten minutes or so, Hermione was about to head back to the common room when Tom rounded the corner, idling along the corridor.

"You're late," Hermione grumped, folding her arms across her chest.

"Actually I'm right on time, you must have arrived early," Tom replied matter-of-factly, causing Hermione to blush as she looked at her watch only to realise that she had come ten minutes early unawares.

"My apologies. Shall we?" She gestured to the blank wall, conjuring an image of a comfortable, safe space in her mind. After checking that they were alone, they slipped into the cosy room that appeared.

Tom raised an eyebrow as he inspected the book-lined walls and the roaring fire, as he ambled to one of the armchairs in the middle of the room.

"Very... rustic," he remarked, primly sitting down and crossing his ankles.

"I was going for homely, but ah well," Hermione retorted, settling herself just as gracefully. "Now then, where do we start?"

"You could start by telling me why you invited me here?" His pointed statement caused Hermione to sigh.

"I wanted to try to convince you not to seek the path to immortality again-" Hermione started before she was cut off.

"Again? You didn't try the first time." She took a breath to compose herself. The conversation would go nowhere if she ended up punching him in the face, after all.

"Alright, fine. Worrying about your Horcruxes consumes the end of your life, necessitates the deaths of seven people, and in the end doesn't even serve to extend your life. You have people around you now that could make your life worth living as a regular wizard, without the need for your soul to be tainted by such dark magic. Friends who would abandon you for not following a dark path weren't worth having in the first place, and you could have a brilliant future.

"You could have any career you wanted, pursue a Mastery in any discipline and study rare branches of magic; or work in the Ministry for a more practical outlet, rise through the ranks and even become Minister. You are such a bright and capable man, and I don't want your ambition to topple you over, it would be a waste of potential and my affections."

"Are you quite finished?" Tom smirked at her, leaning back into his chair. "You really didn't need to say all of that, I've had a think, and the prospect of my life ending at 71 was off-putting enough. Though I'll have you know, I'm not a regular wizard, I'm quite extraordinary."

Hermione was speechless for the second time that day. He had already decided not to make Horcruxes?

"Close your mouth Despina, you aren't a fish," he remarked smartly. "I assume that had you not told me the age I would die, I wouldn't have known and continued to think it was a good idea."

Hermione modded mutely.

"That explains it then. There's no way I would have continued had I known. Like you said, I can live a successful life without assistance, and I'll be renowned for my achievements, not for the dark magic. But more importantly, did I hear you say I have your affections?"

His jesting comment brought heat to her cheeks, as she looked away to the crackling fire.

"I apologise if I worried you, Despina," he leant forwards and gently took her hand in his. "I have grown to... care for you, as it happens, and you factored into my decision as well."

"So you'll stop commanding the Basilisk to hurt people?" Hermione pushed, leaning forwards as well until they were nearly nose to nose.

"I promise I won't willingly hurt anyone that way again," he vowed, and Hermione felt a rush of magic overcome her as the promise was secured. She sagged in relief, and he motioned for her to come close to him.

"I really do care for you Despina," he murmured. "I don't know how you managed to worm your way into my life but you did, and I am grateful for it. I'm sorry for the way I reacted yesterday, I get these urges when the opportunity for power comes by, and I have to reflect on that in order to think rationally."

"I quite understand," Hermione replied faintly, unsure of how to process this complete change of character. She couldn't tell if this was genuine, or merely an act to put her off her path.

"And I hope that, in time, you will come to trust me again, and that I can prove that I meant what I said. I think we'll end up doing great things together. Now then, don't we have Ancient Runes next period?"

Hermione snapped out of her reverie and gathered up her belongings, ushering the tall boy out of the room. If the professor was irritated by his two favourite students arriving slightly late, one more frazzled than the other, he didn't voice it.

The lesson continued without incident, until Hermione was startled by something flying into the back of her head. She turned to find a paper bird nestled in her hair, which she unfolded to find a note in Tom's handwriting.

_Meet me by the lake at the end of the day. TMR._

Hermione wrote back her affirmation in her cramped scrawl, and launched it back. She wondered what he could want, given their earlier conversation, and hoping it was nothing serious.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

With Christmas fast approaching, the weather was getting significantly colder in Scotland, which was why Hermione was regretting bringing her warm cloak to the lake with her. Shivering, she cast a warming charm around her, though it had little effect.

"Why do you never have suitable clothing for going outdoors?" She heard Tom's smooth voice from behind her, then felt a heavy cloak draped over her shoulders. Tom had given her his cloak, and the scent of sandalwood enveloped her.

"Don't be silly, you'll freeze yourself without this! Besides, why did you want to meet out here when there's so many warm places  _inside_  the castle?" Hermione questioned.

"Fewer prying eyes, there are no portraits to spy on us here," Tom explained, without his usual sarcasm.

Hermione nodded in understanding, and they both took a seat on a bench she had transfigured from a stick.

"Come here you silly goose, this cloak is big enough for both of us," Hermione opened up one side of the cloak to allow Tom to join her in its surrounding warmth.

"Right, I'll be quick about this, since it's so bloody cold out here. I need your help to dismantle the Knights of Walpurgis. They have expectations of me, and I need them to see a reason for my change of heart."

"So I'm to be your scapegoat?" Hermione challenged, starting to regret her earlier acceptance of his reasoning.

"No, of course not. But if I suddenly reverse everything about myself with no reason, they will start wondering why. I don't really fancy explaining to them about your being a Seer, do you?" Tom reasoned patiently.

"Are you threatening me?" Hermione stood up, hands on her hips in a manner very similar to her old Head of House.

"Quite the opposite, I'm trying to protect you. My friends know some fairly unsavoury people, and if word gets out about your abilities, I may not be able to shield you from them."

"Alright, fine. What do you need me to do?" Hermione calmed slightly, but was still on edge.

"You're going to think I'm mad, but it's the only way," Tom began reluctantly. Hermione was instantly wary, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I need you to pretend that we're a couple," Tom bit out, as if the words were poison on his tongue.

"Excuse you?"

"It's the only way. If they think my feelings for you are the reason for my change of heart, they won't press any further into it, and then we're both safe."

"Unless they decide to punish me for getting in the way of your ambition?" Hermione retorted, unhappy with how the conversation was going.

"I won't let that happen."

"You can't promise that."

Tom stilled. They were so close, Hermione's neck craned so they were eye to eye, a scowl etched on her fair features.

"No, I can't. But I vow to do everything I can to protect you." And for the second time that day, Hermione was engulfed by the white glow signifying a Wizard's Oath.

"You're making a lot of promises today, Tom. Can I trust you?"

"I would like you to trust me, Despina. What would it take for you to do so?" Tom ran a cold thumb over Hermione's rosy cheek, his sincerity clear in his eyes.

"Tell me how you ended up in that orphanage. I'll trust you to tell me the truth, and you'll trust that I won't tell anyone else."

After a long pause, Tom finally responded to her offer.

"Alright, if that's what you want," he sighed. "My maternal family is directly descended from Salazar Slytherin, and from one of the Peverell Brothers. In their peak, they commanded influence across Europe, playing court with several royal families, duchies, and lords. By the time my family's time had come, the wealth had been squandered, the influence vanished. My grandfather, Marvolo, was a drunk, my uncle insane. And my dear mother was a Squib." Tom inhaled sharply, as if ashamed to utter such words.

"She fancied herself in love with a rich Muggle who lived in the village. She was no prize herself, so she won him over with a continued supply of love potions. When I was conceived, she decided to stop using the potions, thinking that my father would love her and me. Clearly she was mistaken, and he publicly scorned her, humiliating her in front of her family, who disowned her for diluting our pure bloodline. My mother fled to London, selling any and every belonging to feed herself. Then she went into labour outside the same orphanage I spend my summers in, and they did nothing to help her. They let her name me, took me inside, and left her as she died right on their front steps."

The silence that settled was heavy, neither of them wanting to speak first. Hermione opened her mouth to speak before closing it again, as Tom shook his head, pained. Instead, he held her head in his hands, and leant his forehead on hers, closing his eyes.

Hermione was tempted to kiss him in that moment.

But she knew that a strong embrace was what he needed then, so she took him into her arms, and stroked his hair as he moved to rest his head on her shoulder. He never cried, as children conceived under a love potion were supposedly unable to feel emotion, but this was the closest to sadness he had ever experienced. And he was sharing that near-feeling with Despina.

Lifting his head, he gave her a small smile, indicative of the vulnerability he was so unused to experiencing.

"So does this mean you'll be my fake lady-friend?" Tom asked gently, the intended joke still clear.

"I already am your lady-friend, you prat," Hermione grinned in response. "But yes, I will pretend to be your girlfriend."

"Excellent. Now, shall we go back inside? I'm quite certain you'll develop pneumonia should we remain out here any longer, and I'd hate to be responsible for your inadequate immune system's failure."

"You git," Hermione laughed, taking his arm and dragging him back up to the castle. "I hope you won't be this mean to me now that you're courting me!"


End file.
